


Her Hand

by beeftony



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-27 02:45:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9947276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beeftony/pseuds/beeftony
Summary: Ciri accepts a contract to rescue a count's missing daughter from a dragon. But not everything is as it seems.





	

The County of Nevelath was all but forgotten at this point. Three wars against Nilfgaard had passed it by almost entirely, its mostly barren lands being of no great strategic importance. There was a castle, but it was old, rotten, and useless as anything but a reminder of an era long past. There was also a town, which was more of a glorified village.

A vast and mysterious forest took up most of the land, with everything south of the castle used for farming and grazing. Attempts had been made in the past to colonize the forest and expand the rest of the land, but they had all come to nothing, and the land there only seemed fit for growing trees anyhow.

But there were people and there were monsters, which meant that there was need for a witcher.

A horse with a lone rider trotted up the road, towards the center of town. The townsfolk gazed up at the hooded figure with a  sword worn on the back, held in place by a belt slung over the chest. But they gazed only for a moment, before returning to their business. Even here, witchers weren’t entirely forgotten.

It wasn’t until reaching the castle that the Witcher finally dismounted, greeted by a single guard.

“You the Witcher the Count sent for?”

The Witcher nodded.

“Was expecting a man.”

She doffed her hood, revealing ashen hair and a scar under her left eye. “So do most people.”

“You can leave your horse here. It’ll be in the stables for you to pick up.”

“Thank you,” she said, handing the reins to the stable boy who had come up to her in the meantime. She began walking up the ramp into the castle proper.

The castle had suffered some sort of cataclysm, though Ciri could not gauge how long ago it had occurred. She could still see exposed beams, scorched black and surrounded by melted stone. Many of the chambers didn’t have a roof, and parts of the floor were missing in several places. Even Kaer Morhen was in better shape than this.

An explosion? She’d seen what barrels of powder could do when set off. But there was no ground zero that she could see; no point from which devastation had spread outward. It was more likely a simple fire, set by some army or another. Even if Nilfgaard had no interest in this place, the fact that there was a castle here at all meant that the land must have at some point been worth defending. Not anymore, though.

What surprised her was that she was not given an escort. She had been expected, true, but most people she knew who owned castles didn’t give first time visitors this kind of free rein. Especially not women. Did the Count not have enough men to guard more than the front gate, or did he just not care at this point?

For all its decrepitude, the castle was fairly decorated, and was kept tidy on the inside. The hall she passed through now displayed portraits detailing the entire family line, which only amounted to five generations. This region had not been politically significant for hundreds of years, but one could be fooled by this ostentatious of a presentation.

Ciri didn’t like it here. The medallion around her neck remained completely still, but something ominous hung in the air like a dense fog. If she had the money to afford refusing this contract, she would have. As it stood, however, she had spent more than one night recently contemplating how her boots might taste.

There was no throne room, since this castle had been built for a count instead of a king, but there was a large hall where the lord of these lands heard grievances and held court. She found him there, hunched over a table, reading several scrolls. A single guard stood in the corner, but Ciri had known narcoleptics more attentive than him. She cleared her throat and spoke.

“Greetings, Your Excellency.”

Count Reginald Erlenmeyer did not look up from his scrolls. He was a thin man, almost gaunt, with raven black hair and sunken, bloodshot eyes. He had the look of a man who never left the castle, his physical form reflecting the frailty of his surroundings. There was something unsettling about him. Something vindictive and cruel.

“Was expecting a man.”

“So was your guard. Should I leave?”

“No. A woman might be what I need anyway.”

Swallowing her pride, Ciri reminded herself of how many other jobs she’d gone hungry over refusing. “What is it you need me to do? The notice wasn’t entirely clear.”

“I need you to find someone.” Grabbing a quill, he made a few scribbles on one of the scrolls, and still refused to look at her.

“Find who, exactly?”

“My daughter,” he replied. “Mia.”

Ciri crossed her arms and stared hard at the Count, who continued to examine his scrolls. “What happened to her?”

“She was taken by a monster.”

“What sort of monster?”

“If I knew that, I’d hardly need a witcher, now would I?”

She scowled, but quickly regained her composure. “Forgive me, Your Excellency, but I need more information if I’m to find her.”

“Your Excellency? So, someone finally calls me that. Never mind that I can’t even remember which regime named which ancestor a Count and trapped me in this accursed land for all my days. My title carries as much weight as a bucket of dog shite at this point. But no matter. I appreciate the gesture nonetheless.”

“It at least warrants calling you by it.”

A dark and spiteful laugh escaped him. “That it does.”

“Can you please tell me more about what happened?”

Count Erlenmeyer sighed. “Two years ago,” he said, “I held a tournament. The winner was to have my daughter’s hand.”

Somewhat mollified, Ciri listened.

“Knights from all over the continent came to compete,” he continued. “There was jousting, dueling, racing, even a pie eating contest. It was a grand time.” His face turned sour. “But none of them won.”

“Who did?”

“Some outlander. No one knew where they came from, didn’t even have a coat of arms. But no one else even came close to besting them in the contests. Truth be told, I didn’t have a problem with it until they took off their helmet.”

“I’m guessing it has something to do with the fact that you’ve avoided mentioning this person’s sex.”

For the first time, he looked up and made eye contact. “Perceptive. Yes, the victor was a woman. When I explained that it would be impossible to fulfill the promise of my daughter’s hand, she vowed that I would regret that decision and said she would be back. A week later my daughter was missing.”

“And you haven’t found her in two years?”

The Count shook his head.

“You said a monster had taken her,” said Ciri. “Last I checked, simply liking the same sex didn’t make one monstrous.”

“My guards reported seeing a winged beast take my daughter from her chambers,” he replied. “I believe it was summoned.”

Ciri uncrossed her arms, stroking her chin with one hand. “Could any of them describe the beast in greater detail? Size, general shape, color? There’s a lot of diversity among draconids, which by the way could have just eaten your daughter after abducting her.”

He shook his head. “It was dark and my men are blind as bats. The one thing they do agree on is that the girl left on the creature’s back, as though she were under some spell. I’m no expert on monsters, but even I know they don’t hunt in castles. It had to be under that sorceress’ command.”

“And you’re certain she’s still alive?”

“I have to be. If she were dead we’d at least have found her body by now.”

She frowned, placing her hands on her hips. “I take it you’ve never seen a body after a draconid’s done with it. Basilisks peck it into oblivion, forktails have been known to dissolve the corpse with the same acid they spit, and griffins pick them apart piece by piece while they’re still alive.”

“I know she’s alive,” the Count insisted, “because the woman didn’t want her dead. She simply wanted her. She summoned the creature to abscond with my daughter and has been hiding her for the past two years. All my efforts at finding her have resulted in naught. That is why I hired you, and I must say, I expected you to have a little more imagination.”

Ciri decided against a witty retort and returned to stroking her chin.

“Conjuration is an extremely difficult art,” she said. “Especially when conjuring creatures native to other spheres. The draconids that reside in our world now are post-Conjunction creatures. It’s no small matter to summon one.”

“Could she have found one and dominated its mind?”

“That would take even more power. Most forms of magical control only work on humans and nonhumans, if at all. It would have to be a sorceress of exceptionally rare skill.”

 “An expert on magic, are you?”

“I am, actually. I studied it myself for years.”

“Hm.”

“I’ll find your daughter,” she said. “But if a rogue sorceress is involved that means greater danger than simply hunting down some Forktail or Basilisk. I expect that to be reflected in my reward.”

The Count laughed. “You witchers are shrewd indeed. Very well. If this sorceress is as powerful as you say, you’ll have earned a greater reward if you take her down.”

“I’ll need to speak to your men of course. And I’ll need a place to stay while I’m in town.”

He nodded. “A room has been prepared for you at the local inn. As for my men, I’m not sure what you expect to learn from those layabouts, but I’ll have them sent to you.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course. And Witcher?””

“Yes?”

“If my daughter is dead, there will be no reward. Understood?”

Ciri resisted the urge to scowl. “Understood.”

* * *

Questioning the guards, if they could even be called that, bore no fruit. The problem was not a dearth of information, but an overabundance. The creature they described was of at least three varying sizes, seven colors, and five smells. She would have gotten more reliable information from asking a tree, which at the very least wouldn’t contradict itself. In some of the worlds she’d visited, the trees were actually smarter.

Trees also didn’t offer to take her behind the stables and show her better things she could be doing with her time. In fairness, at least these men accepted her answer without her having to cut off any limbs. She wasn’t always so fortunate.

Frustrated, she made her way to the inn where a room had been prepared for her. There weren’t any accommodations in the castle itself, which suited her just fine. An inn meant travelers from the surrounding area, as well as a few locals who might have seen something. Ciri ordered a shot of vodka to start with and sat, observing the room around her.

There was a travelling merchant seated at the table closest to the entrance, nursing his beer protectively and in no hurry to get to know the people around him. Most likely this was because the town of Nevelath was simply a stop along the way rather than the destination at which he intended to unload his wares. She moved her eyes quickly to the next.

A few seats down was a stern looking woman, a priestess of some deity with which Ciri was unfamiliar. Two children were also at the table, dressed in what she concluded were novice uniforms. Did they not have a temple, or did it simply not have any food left? Or were they on the road as well? She decided against asking.

Seated nearby were two men engaged In a rather languid game of Gwent, knocking back their beers and generally killing time. They didn’t look like peasants, but weren’t dressed like travelers either. A minute later her question was answered when the innkeep asked one of them to take his spot at the bar while he took over his deck.

The patron who drew the most attention met her eyes when she looked at him. He was tall with curly chestnut hair, wearing armor with a crest she had never seen, depicting a trio of black birds in a line against a yellow background. To his right and left were two women of Zerrikanian origin, swords at their hips. Curiously, the man himself carried no weapon.

For some reason she couldn’t place, Ciri trusted the man instinctively.

Deciding there was no better place to begin the next phase of her investigation, Ciri downed the shot and stood, making her way over to the man and his two companions. “Greetings.”

He smiled warmly. “Greetings indeed. Forgive me, I saw you and was reminded of an old friend.”

“No need to apologize,” she said, sliding into the chair across from the trio. “Are you a traveler?”

“I am. I trust you are as well?”

“Have been for as long as I remember.” In more ways than many would ever know.

“Well met. My name is Three Jackdaws, but you may call me Borch if you wish.” He extended his hand, which she shook.

“Ciri.”

“What can I do for you, Ciri?”

“Have you  heard much about this town?”

Three Jackdaws appeared ponderous for a moment. “You wouldn’t happen to be a witcher, would you?”

“I am.”

“I guessed as much from the sword on your back. Your eyes differ from a typical witcher, though.”

Ciri leaned back. “I never underwent the mutations. By the time I was trained the knowledge of how had been lost.”

“I see. But you asked a question. I responded with one of my own because the answer to my question influences how I choose to answer yours. You’re looking for the Count’s daughter, I presume?”

“You presume correctly.”

“I thought so. My advice? Don’t bother. The girl is obviously long dead.”

“That’s what I told him, but if he insists on holding out hope long enough for me to stay here a few days instead of starving in the forest then I’m not going to argue.”

He laughed riotously, and the two women giggled as well. “Ah, how rude of me. Ciri, allow me to introduce Tèa and Vèa. I never go anywhere without them.”

“Well met.” She nodded her head at both women. “Bodyguards?”

Borch nodded.

“You could do a lot worse than two Zerrikanians.”

“You speak true. They keep me protected so well I don’t need a sword of my own.”

“But you are a knight, yes?”

“Sometimes,” he answered, without elaborating.

Three Jackdaws leaned closer in the silence that followed. “May I ask you a question, Ciri?”

“Of course.”

“Do you hunt dragons?”

She quirked an eyebrow. “I beg your pardon?”

“As a witcher, you must hunt all sorts of creatures,” he clarified. “Have you ever hunted a dragon?”

“No,” said Ciri. “I can’t say that I have.”

“And why not?”

“Dragons don’t pose a threat to humanity,” she responded. “It’s we who threaten them. Encroaching on their territory, lusting after their treasure hoards. Believing them to be sources of evil when they’d prefer to be left in peace. Besides, plenty of other groups hunt dragons. Dwarven mercenaries, Crinfrid Reavers, sorcerers looking for spell ingredients, and especially knights errant. There’s simply no need for witchers to do it.”

“But some witchers do.”

“Yes.” She nodded. “Some do. But I’m not one of them.”

“A pity,” he said, downing some of his beer. “Because a dragon is the monster you seek.”

Ciri nearly fell out of her chair. “What?”

“You’re hardly the first contractor to search for Mia Erlenmeyer in the last two years,” Three Jackdaws explained. “Most of them never came back, but of those that did, all of them reported being attacked by a golden dragon, about ten miles due northwest of here.”

“A golden dragon? You’re joking, surely.”

“I have been known to jest about a great many things, but never about dragons.”

“But golden dragons don’t exist. There are red, green, black, and white dragons, but golden dragons either never existed or went extinct so long ago they’ve faded into legend.”

He smiled confidently. “A common point of view. Yet several men who were otherwise unacquainted with each other all reported the same thing. Strange that the Count failed to mention it to you.”

“How did you find out, anyway?”

“I pass through this town every now and then. I’ve picked up a few things.”

He definitely knew more than he was letting on. The amulet remained stubbornly still, but there was something about this man that suggested something deeper. Still, her instincts told her she could trust him.

“Think about it logically. I’m sure the Count’s men told you that she left on the creature’s back. And you know how easy it would have been for a common draconid to just eat her, yes?”

Ciri nodded.

“Dragons are far more sapient than lesser creatures such as forktails or griffins. And not all are evil. To conflate them would be like equating a bruxa with a higher vampire.”

“I take your point,” she said. “All the more reason not to hunt them. But why would a dragon take interest in a girl from a minor County that was so unimportant the Nilfgaardian army didn’t bother passing through here over the course of three wars?”

“An intriguing question.”

She narrowed her eyes, staring at the table. If it truly was a dragon, a golden one at that, then controlling its mind with magic would be absolutely out of the question. Not even an Elven Sage could conjure up enough power. That would mean…

“The woman who won the tournament,” she concluded, “must be allied with this dragon. Maybe even friends.”

Three Jackdaws smiled. “A distinct possibility. What will you do now?”

“The Count simply hired me to find his daughter,” said Ciri. “Not to kill a dragon. I’ll still need to fulfill that part of the contract, but I’ll not harm the dragon unless it attacks me.”

“That might be more difficult than you’d think.”

She smirked. “I’ll be fine.”

“It’ll be dark soon,” Borch observed, glancing out the window behind him. “Are you staying here?”

“I am.”

“What would you say to a proposition?”

Ciri cocked an eyebrow. “Of what sort?”

“I offer you a choice,” he said, gesturing to his two companions. “Of whom you wish to spend tonight with.”

“Awfully presumptuous of you.”

“It is.” He smiled, as did the two women. “But not incorrect, I think.”

Ciri leaned forward and smiled back. “Well before I decide,” she said, “we’re going to need some more drinks.”

* * *

Waking the next morning with a warm body still pressed against her was something Ciri had not experienced in a very long time. Vèa had at least two decades on her, but they had found many things to connect over despite a rather substantial language barrier. In the end, only one word had mattered.

“ _More_.”

Vèa had awoken by now, and the two women shared a glance and a smile. They didn’t speak words. Words were unnecessary.

After dressing, Ciri followed the other woman downstairs to find Three Jackdaws and Tèa sitting in the exact same spot as the night before. Vèa quietly made her way over to them while Ciri did the same.

“Good morning,” she said.

“Good morning. Join us for breakfast?”

“Yes please.” She didn’t know if this contract would put her in a position to get a meal after this, and she definitely didn’t mind the company.

“Are you still planning to pursue the contract?”

Ciri nodded as she was slid a plate of eggs and sausage that had apparently already been ordered for her. She happily began to devour it.

“I see. If that’s the case, would you allow the three of us to accompany you? I’m headed that way myself.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “I mean no offense, but it wouldn’t be safe. No matter how able your bodyguards are.”

Three Jackdaws smiled. “This isn’t the first dragon hunt I’ve been on. King Niedamir once led an expedition to kill a dragon so he could marry the princess of Malleore, since her hand in marriage was conditional on that accomplishment. He’d already conquered that land, of course, but he wanted to slay the dragon so he’d be seen as the legitimate ruler.”

“Did he plan on doing that himself?”

“Gods, no. The ones he hired were just as you described: dwarven mercenaries, Crinfrid Reavers, two sorcerers, a knight errant… and a witcher.”

She raised both eyebrows.

“Well, saying he hired the Witcher is inaccurate. I’m afraid I talked the Witcher into it. The funny thing is, what you said about hunting dragons reminds me almost exactly of what he told me.”

“What was his name?”

“Geralt of Rivia.”

Ciri’s fork slipped and clattered onto the floor. “He’s never told me that story.”

“You know him?”

She nodded. “He’s… well he’s like a father to me.”

“Intriguing. You know what’s strange? He _also_ chose Vèa to spend the night with when we met him.”

“What?!” Ciri shrieked in an octave she previously hadn’t thought possible. This early in the morning the only people around to stare at her were the innkeep, the barmaids, and a cat. She was overcome by the urge to curl into a ball and disappear. More quietly, she repeated: “What?”

Vèa, for her part, only smiled mischievously.

“Did that upset you?”

She rested her forehead against the table and spoke to the floor. “Guess.”

He laughed. “My apologies. I simply found it remarkable.”

Ciri decided then that the next time she saw Geralt, he would _not_ be hearing of this. She _might_ tell Yennefer or Triss, though.

“I assume this precludes us from traveling with you?”

Sitting up, Ciri shook her head. “You know what? The more the merrier. Just... if it goes bad, try to stay out of my way.”

“Won’t be a problem.”

\--

“Who else was on the dragon hunt with you?” asked Ciri once they were properly on the road. It was ten miles to the place where the dragon attacks had supposedly occurred, and she wanted to spend as little time as possible thinking about how she and the man she’d always thought of as her father had slept with the same woman, under largely the same circumstances.

The canopy of the forest was thick enough that Ciri could barely see the sky. Unkempt underbrush threatened an inferno if lit, which made this a poor spot to engage a dragon. There had been no reports of it venturing out this far, but it could easily set fire to the entire region if the mood struck it. Come to think of it, the wounds suffered by the castle did include several scorch marks and melted stone, but they were centuries old. Too long ago to be the same dragon, if one existed at all.

“I remember Eyck of Denesle,” Three Jackdaws replied. “He was a knight errant out to kill some ‘great evil,’ even though they were only in a position to hunt the dragon because some peasant filled a dead sheep with poison and got the dragon to eat it.”

“Well that sucks the heroics right out of it.”

“Indeed. There were of course the Crinfrid Reavers, as well as Yarpen Zigrin and his band.”

“Yarpen Zigrin? I have heard this story! He and Geralt were discussing it while we were riding in the back of Zigrin’s wagon.”

“Why were you riding in his wagon?”

“A friend was sick and couldn’t ride on horseback. Zigrin and his fellow dwarves were transporting barrels full of wartime goods under the banner of King Henselt’s army through an area thick with Scoia’tael, but it turned out they were filled with rocks because Henselt suspected all nonhumans of being traitors.”

“How terrible. How much of the story did you hear from him?”

“Definitely not the part you told me,” she said, blushing.

He simply laughed. The other two women giggled.

“You mentioned there were sorcerers.”

“Well, a sorcerer and sorceress, actually. There was Dorregary of Vole, who believe it or not was there to stop everyone from killing dragons, and Yennefer of Vengerberg.”

“Yennefer? What did she want?”

“You would have to ask her.”

“Anyone else I know?” she asked, exasperated. “Dandelion, perhaps?”

“Actually, yes.”

Ciri slowly brought her palm up to her face. “Let’s just keep riding.”

* * *

Ten miles out, it became clear why whatever had attacked the previous investigators chose this spot to ambush them. An extremely large chasm, passable only by a single rope bridge, lay in front of them. In the distance, Ciri could make out a solitary tower, presumably owned by a mage at one point, with a  perfect view of their position. A creature whose evolution had given it the incredible eyesight necessary to spot prey from high above would have no trouble pinpointing them just as they emerged from the forest.

Still, that didn’t prove that it was a dragon. Any number of draconids could spot them from here, though Borch’s words did contain some sense. And now that she had been reminded of it, she did remember that Geralt and Yarpen Zigrin had been discussing a golden dragon, who interceded on a green dragon’s behalf and ended up adopting its child. Even if that dragon did exist, it was likely the only one of its kind.

A large, flat field of grass dominated the other side of the chasm, with a few trees dotting the landscape. The tower was the only landmark of real consequence.

“We’ll need to dismount,” said Ciri. “Lead the horses across on foot.”

“I agree,” Three Jackdaws responded, exiting the saddle. Tèa and Vèa dismounted as well.

They were halfway across the bridge when she froze. Ciri did not have the enhanced senses of a traditional witcher, but her medallion warned her of the danger before she heard it. She began walking faster, the ominous rocking of the bridge be damned.

Heavy wingbeats came from her right, and Ciri turned her head just in time to see precisely how wrong she was concerning the existence of golden dragons.

It was tremendous. Three wagons long at least, and two in height. Its wings were similarly huge, and were beating hard enough that she nearly lost her footing. She should have moved, should have reacted… but couldn’t. She was transfixed.

Kelpie did not have the same problem, rushing forward in a blind panic and clipping her shoulder, which sent her stumbling backwards. Curiously, the other three mounts remained where they were, but that thought only reached Ciri after she had already been pitched over the side of the bridge. Before she could grab for anything, she was already ten feet below it.

Damn. She really hadn’t wanted to use the Power, but it wasn’t like anyone was left who could track it. She could only hope that word of this didn’t reach the wrong ears.

Three Jackdaws barely had time to cry out her name before she summoned her power and disappeared, reappearing on the other side of the bridge and falling gently onto the grass. The dragon had completely passed them by at this point and was headed back to the tower in a wide arc.

Ciri resolved to lie there until it came back. She’d already given her word that she would not kill it, and if things came to a head she could always spend some time in another world until it all blew over. Besides, all things considered, the grass was definitely softer on this side of the bridge.

“Ciri!”

Three Jackdaws ran up to her, evidently mistaking her lack of desire to get up after such embarrassment for serious injury. She sighed and sat up, then stood. “I’m fine.”

“Well yes, but how? That was… I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”

“I’ll tell you later,” she said. “Right now we need to get to that tower.”

* * *

The tower was clearly made in Kovir, though what it was doing in this forgotten landscape Ciri hadn’t the foggiest. Supposedly while searching for her Geralt had encountered a Koviri tower that had teleported to An Skellig as a defense mechanism,  but this one clearly hadn’t been inhabited by a mage in centuries. Not a human one, anyway.

“Careful,” she warned, examining the runes surrounding the door while holding up the amulet. It remained perfectly still, indicating that the spell guarding the door was not active, and probably hadn’t been in centuries.

“What does that amulet do?”

“It reacts to magic,” she said. “If it detects a spell or a post-Conjunction creature, it vibrates.”

“Any post-Conjunction creature?”

“Not all of them. Higher vampires don’t set it off, and anything that transforms itself with polymorphy is difficult to detect. I could get a better reading if I still knew magic, but this is the best I’ve got.”

“You know magic? I thought witchers only used Signs.”

“Signs are a form of magic,” she explained, leaning against the wall next to the door. “But I can’t do those either. I can’t draw the Power in the traditional way. Not anymore.”

“Why not?”

She smiled sadly. “Let’s just say that when you play with fire, it doesn’t discriminate between who burns and who doesn’t.”

“What about what happened on the bridge?”

“That’s different.”

“Ah.”

“We should get inside. We’ll be easy pickings for the dragon out here.”

She opened the door and entered silently, with her three companions following likewise behind her.

The interior of the tower was surprisingly well preserved, given how many centuries ago it had apparently been constructed. Ciri kept her blade in its sheath, knowing that once she drew it, there would be no going back. She began making her way up the stairs, as did the others, moving every bit as competently as she did.

Inside the tower, the dragon would have a far more difficult time surprising them, much less moving. Anything larger than a human would be hard pressed to move up the narrow staircases and hallways, which had not been designed with a dragon in mind. She was becoming increasingly curious as to why the dragon had chosen this place at all. Though she supposed that it would be a convenient place to stash the girl, shielded as it was from most divining spells. The dragon would only need the roof for its nest.

Checking the various doors yielded mostly empty storerooms, libraries, and a laboratory, which surprisingly appeared to still be in use. She didn’t know much about Mia Erlenmeyer, but her father probably would have mentioned if she possessed the natural talent to become a sorceress, in which case she wouldn’t have been around to get kidnapped as she would have been taken away long ago. And someone with no training looking simply to pass the time could not have kept that laboratory in such pristine condition.

That confirmed it. There was a sorceress here, and she had a dragon at her command. Ciri’s hand went to her sword.

Finally they arrived at a door at the top of the stairs, and opened it quietly. Ciri had not known what to expect when she opened the door, but it certainly was not two women sitting at a table, passing the time with a game of Gwent.

“Mia Erlenmeyer?”

The girl on the left nodded, a young, raven-haired woman who appeared far healthier than the Count even though she too looked as though she rarely left the confines of the tower. The other woman had chestnut brown hair and appeared slightly older, but given everything Ciri had learned, she was probably much older than that.

Seeing the look that Mia was giving the other woman, it also became painfully clear that the Count had not given her an accurate picture of things.

“And you are?” asked the sorceress.

“Ciri,” she answered. “And this is...”

The woman tilted her head as Three Jackdaws entered the chamber. “Hello, father.”

What.

“You’ve not changed a bit, Luci.”

“Luci?”

“Short for Lucintha,” the sorceress explained, then turned to look at Tèa and Vèa. “You’re still wandering about with those two?”

“They bring me good fortune. And you? Does this one make you happy?”

“She does.”

“Okay, what is going on?” Ciri asked, taking care not to scream. She looked at Mia. “You weren’t kidnapped?” She turned to Three Jackdaws. “You’re her _father_?” Then to Lucintha. “And where is the dragon?”

It was silent for ten seconds before Lucintha burst out laughing. “Oh, you must forgive me. The look on your face is simply priceless. The dragon is right here.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“My real name is Ragonendoron,” she explained. “My father, whom you seem to have met, is really named Villentretenmerth.”

Ciri stood there, unsure of who to be angry with. “And you’re _both_ dragons?”

Three Jackdaws chuckled. “Sorry to pull the wool over your eyes, but one simply can’t be too careful. Once I learned you were so close with Geralt, I decided to arrange this meeting.”

Her legs suddenly felt weak. Ciri walked over to a chair and sat down. He remained standing.

“What’s Geralt got to do with it?”

“As I put it to him all those years ago, dragons are now in such a position as to need help from witchers ourselves. You were right: golden dragons are nearly extinct. Other than the two of us, I know of none who have survived.”

“But how do you both look… human?”

“Polymorphy is a form of magic that’s virtually impossible for humans to learn,” said Lucintha. “But for dragons it comes naturally.”

She turned to Three Jackdaws. “I’d be angry at you for fooling me, but I keep too many secrets myself to have any right to.”

“Speaking of which, you did promise me an explanation.”

“Which I will give you as soon as _I_ get some answers.” She looked at Mia. “So all this time, you just ran away?”

Mia nodded.

“She’d come to visit me when she was younger,” said Lucintha. “None of her father’s men dared cross the bridge, but one day she became lost after picking berries in the forest. I found her and she saw me in my true form, but she wasn’t afraid. I helped her find her way home and after that she made it a point to pay me a visit almost every day.”

“That explains why you didn’t stray far,” she said. “Still, why didn’t you let your father know you were okay?”

“My father,” Mia said venomously, “can rot in hell.”

“I’m sure you heard of the tournament he threw to give her away like some prize?”

Ciri nodded. “As he told it, you won that contest.”

“I only entered to save her from being given away to some oaf who didn’t deserve his knighthood. None of them did. They were vile, brutal men who raped and pillaged for a living and called it war. Mia had already said she loved me long before then.”

“So what happened? I’d very much like to hear your side of things.”

“Naturally, her father reneged on his offer, saying it came with the implied requirement that she give birth to an heir. Since that was impossible, I couldn’t be the winner. I insisted that he honor the letter of the agreement, and… well, he did.”

“What do you mean?”

“The actual wording of the prize never specified Mia’s hand in marriage. It simply mentioned…”

“My hand.” Mia finished, raising her right arm from under the table. Ciri observed in horror that she wore a hook.

“As soon as she healed enough to leave, I came to her window at night and flew her away from the castle,” Lucintha finished. “And I’ve killed or chased away everyone who’s come looking for her. Truth be told, the only reason I didn’t kill you is because my father was with you.”

Ciri was quiet for a long time before she finally sighed. “I’m not getting that damn reward.”

“My father was right to trust you, it seems. But you won’t leave empty-handed. Dragon treasure hoards aren’t just legend, you know.”

“Thank you. I need only enough to survive until the next contract comes around.”

“And she’s not greedy! Most would have asked for their weight in gold.”

She laughed. “How would I even carry it?”

“I’m sure you’d manage. Besides, those who would ask for such a thing now lie at the bottom of that ravine. How did you survive that, by the way?”

“That’s a long story,” said Ciri. “That I’ll tell you once we deal with that.”

Lucintha’s eyes went wide as she looked out the window. There was a small army outside; an entire garrison of troops, which the Count could not have mustered on his own. The color of their uniforms made it clear where they had come from, however.

“Never touched by Nilfgaard my perfectly shaped arse,” Ciri snarled, standing up and crossing the room to get a better look. “They must have had scouts following us while the troops took the long way around.”

“I hope I’m right in trusting you didn’t lead them to us on purpose.”

“Why would I? I’m running from Nilfgaard too.”

“Let me guess: part of that long story?”

“Yes. I’ll deal with them.”

Lucintha shook her head. “No. This is my tower, I will defend it. I need neither your help nor my father’s. Nilfgaard will rue the day they challenged me.” She began moving out of the room, towards the stairs that led to the roof.

“Lucintha, wait.”

She stopped.

“You see those ballistae? Some of them fire bolts, yes, but others have been equipped to fire nets. Their defenses are covered in soaked leather, and that armor is flame resistant. I even see mages down there. They know what they’re up against.”

“It matters not. I will defend my love.”

“I advise against it. Smaller groups have brought down stronger dragons. And even if you do defeat them, they’ll only send more.”

“She’s right,” said Three Jackdaws. “Even together, we could only last so long before being brought down.”

“What do you propose, then? That we fight them here in the tower where I am unable to use my true strength? Or that I flee my own home? We have no other option!”

“Yes,” said Ciri, not looking at them. “We do.”

Lucintha stared hard at her, and by this point Mia had stood up and begun clutching her arm. “What do you mean?”

“They’re prepared to fight a dragon,” she explained. “They’re not prepared for me.”

* * *

Count Reginald Erlenmeyer wouldn’t miss this for the world. After two years, he had tracked down his daughter, as well as the monster who had taken her from him. And he’d acquired a valuable alliance while doing so.

“Any word, Commander?”

Garrison Commander Emil Kravenof shook his head. He was tall and sturdy like an oak, part Nordling by some accounts, which was why he had never risen above his current station. This alliance benefited them both.

“We have been unable to gain entry into the tower and are waiting for our mages to dispel the runes guarding the door. It will be only minutes, now.”

“Tell your men to keep watching the skies. That dragon won’t be coming out the front door.”

“As you wish.”

The next few minutes of waiting were nearly unbearable as he wished for some kind of knife to cut the palpable tension. He did not intend to stand out in the open like a fool once the fight began, of course, but he had to see the dragon with his own eyes. Just once.

He was so focused on the sky that he didn’t notice the ashen-haired woman walking up to him until she had punched him in the face.

“You lied to me!”

She was stronger than he expected. The punch took him clean off his feet, and he landed on his arse in the mud. Wiping the blood from his split lip, Erlenmeyer smiled. “How so?”

“You knew from the start that your daughter was never kidnapped,” said Ciri. “And you knew there was a dragon here, given that it had attacked so many of the mercenaries you sent before. But you failed to mention that to me. And now you come here with the bloody Nilfgaardians!”

He said nothing, but slowly stood.

“What was the point, Count? You clearly didn’t trust that I would kill the dragon, given the size of the force you’ve mounted here! And you certainly didn’t have this many men at your disposal yesterday! You couldn’t possibly have convinced them to ally with you and your worthless fucking land over some dragon!”

“You’re right,” he said. “That’s not how I managed it.”

“Then how?”

“I promised them the Lion Cub of Cintra,” he said, that devilish, bloody grin expanding ever wider. “The Lady of Space and Time. The Child of the Elder Blood.”

That got the reaction he was looking for. Recognition tinged with… horror.

“You weren’t really expecting a man, were you?”

“I’ve known who you are since before I instructed my agents to invite you here,” he answered, “Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon.”

Ciri shot him a look of pure hatred, but said nothing in reply.

“You’re not going to ask how I knew? Even out here, a man with competent spies in his employ can learn of news at the Nilfgaardian court. He can also hear of a certain ashen-haired witcher, the first female witcher in history, and from there it would be childishly simple to entice her to visit his humble domain with the promise of rescuing a fair maiden from a dragon.”

She stood there, trembling. As well she should. Like him, Emhyr var Emreis had been told that his daughter was dead, when really she had run away. What wonderful rewards he would acquire for bringing her to him alive.

Suddenly, Ciri began laughing.

“What is it?”

“You know, Erlenmeyer, until just now, I was actually going to let you live,” she said. “So you’d have time to ponder how completely you failed your daughter until the end of your days. But you just had to tell me your big plan, gloating like you’ve already won.”

“Who says I haven’t?” He stretched his arms out wide. “This force could take on ten dragons! What can you do against it?”

“The same thing I did to the Wild Hunt.”

“What?”

Ciri vanished in a puff of green smoke, and he received his answer.

A short distance to his right, a soldier cried out, and blood began shooting out of his armor like a geyser. Green energy flashed, and now the sound came from his left, where a ballista operator was missing his head. Then there was noise from behind. In front. Left. Right. He couldn’t keep up.

Erlenmeyer had never seen war. His lands were never valuable enough for that. But he knew this was different. This wasn’t war.

This was a massacre.

There had been rumors that the Elder Blood allowed access to unbelievable levels of magical power, power over space and time itself, but this was like nothing he had ever imagined. The Nilfgaardians tried desperately to regroup, but it was like trying to fight the wind. She slid among them, quicksilver in human form, ending their lives in a brief and horrifying thunderstorm of blood.

He had made a mistake.

“Stop!” he cried out. “Damn you, stop! Let’s talk about this!”

He received no answer. He would have had better luck beseeching a hurricane.

Kravenof was the last to fall, and Ciri reappeared in front of him, then began walking slowly towards Erlenmeyer.

“Do you know how many people have tried to use me in their plans?” she asked without emotion as she advanced. “As their bargaining chip, their chess piece, their little tool?”

He backed away slowly but stumbled, then crawled, without ever taking his eyes off her.

“Do you know how many of those people are dead now?”

“Please don’t!” he begged, falling to his knees. “I won’t tell anybody you’re alive! I promise! Just let me live!”

She stared at him, cold as ice with murder in her eyes. But she stayed her blade.

“I’m not going to kill you, Erlenmeyer,” she said slowly. Deliberately.

For a moment he allowed himself hope. Then he saw his daughter walking up to him, with the same look in her eyes.

“But you’re not leaving here alive.”

Ciri handed Mia the sword, then stepped back. She gripped it in her left hand, since the other could no longer hold a sword. Or anything else.

“Father,” she said curtly, before whirling around and slicing through Erlenmeyer’s neck before he could reply.

* * *

“So as you can see,” said Ciri as they wrapped up their conversation back in the tower, “I sympathize with your predicament rather strongly.”

She had told them everything. From the night that Geralt of Rivia attended a banquet in Cintra to when she and her allies defeated the Wild Hunt, and allowed Emhyr var Emreis to believe that she had died saving the world from the White Frost.

It was quiet for several moments before Lucintha spoke. “You could have had command of all Nilfgaard, but you chose the wandering life of a witcher instead?”

“I did. I’ve known nothing but travel for most of my life. At this point I simply don’t know how to stay in one place for very long.”

“Even if it means getting so desperate that you accept contracts like this one?”

“It’s not always like this,” she said. “It has its ups and downs, but when given the option I didn’t trade it for the world.”

“I see. I did promise you part of my treasure as a reward for your help. I’d say you’ve more than earned that now.”

“Thank you. What will you do now? It’s clearly not safe to stay here.”

Lucintha leaned back. “Why not? Everyone who knew about this place now lies dead.”

“That’s not how Nilfgaard operates,” she said, shaking her head. “A garrison of that size doesn’t simply disappear without someone coming to investigate. In all likelihood the details of the operation were passed up the chain of command. The Emperor himself could know where you are now, especially given that I was part of the deal.”

“So then what do you suggest?”

“Nobody in the town nearby knows of your true nature,” said Ciri. “And Mia does stand to inherit her father’s title. You could hide in plain sight.”

“After what you just told us about yourself, how can you expect her to follow in her father’s footsteps?”

Ciri shrugged. “I don’t. It was just a suggestion. There is another option.”

“What?” asked Mia.

“I can open a portal. To another world. One where you needn’t fear being hunted by glory-seekers, treasure hunters, or anyone else who wishes you harm. You could live in peace.”

Lucintha shook her head. “If I’ve learned anything, no world exists where man’s greed would not eventually seek us out.”

“There are plenty of worlds where man doesn’t exist at all,” said Ciri. “Where dragons thrive.”

“Would Mia be able to live there?”

“Of course. You seem more than capable of protecting her.”

She looked at Mia. “What do you think, my love?”

Mia Erlenmeyer was silent, but eventually nodded. “As long as I’m with you.”

“Very well then. How would it work?”

“Your tower is already capable of teleportation. I would use my power to amplify the spell and send you into a different sphere of existence. I’d make sure to send you to one most conducive to both of your survival.”

Lucintha turned to Three Jackdaws. “And you, father? Will you be coming?”

Smiling gently, he shook his head. “There are still many things in this word that I want to experience. And a number of dragons I’ve sworn to protect. We will see each other again. Someday.”

“I hope so.”

Mia was staring at Ciri. “What about you?”

“What do you mean?”

“She means that you’ve gained the Empire’s attention as well. Where will you go?”

Ciri shrugged. “I doubt the Emperor ever truly believed I was dead. Let them try to find me. The Wild Hunt couldn’t capture me, what chance does he have?”

None of them said anything in reply, but all smiled.

“Shall we?”

From that point it was a matter of tying up loose ends. A reasonable portion of Ragonendoron’s treasure was transferred to Ciri’s saddlebags, and they all said their goodbyes. When the time came at last, as the sun began to sink below the world’s slippery rim, Ciri placed her hands on the tower while Lucintha cast a teleport spell, and the structure vanished in a flash of green light.

“How do you feel?” Three Jackdaws asked her, and she turned around.

“Honestly? The same way I feel at the end of every contract. Glad I got paid, and when I’m really lucky, that I did some good in the world.”

“That’s good to hear. I’m glad you helped my daughter. I’ve been passing through that town for the last few years to make sure she’s doing alright. Now I can rest easy.”

“You’re not sad? This makes you the only remaining golden dragon in the world.”

He smiled. “As you said yourself, golden dragons have already faded into legend. This world long ago ceased to be a place where we dragons could show ourselves without fear. Perhaps in a new world she can finally be free to spread her wings.”

“She will.”

“Then I’m satisfied.”

“Villentretenmerth?”

“Yes?”

“May I see your true form? Before we part?”

Villentretenmerth grinned, and where an instant ago had stood a man with chestnut hair and a strange coat of arms was now an enormous dragon, scales shinier and more resplendent than any gold she had ever seen. He turned to the two Zerrikanians.

“Tèa. Vèa. Bring the horses back into town, if you please. We’ll be by for them later.”

The two women nodded and did as commanded, leading the horses back towards the bridge.

 “What do you say, Ciri?” he said, lowering his right shoulder to allow her to clamber on. “Care to see the world from above?”

She smiled.

“That sounds perfect.”


End file.
